


Cheek to Cheek

by suyari



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banana Hate, Friendship, Gen, Healing, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, acclimation, loving relationship, out of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sam wondered how he got so lucky. And sometimes he was too busy sighing and wondering how caring for two technically geriatric super soldiers had become his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheek to Cheek

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can be read as a family unit or as a relationship. 
> 
> Feel free to accept it whichever way speaks to you.

Sometimes Sam wondered how he got so lucky. And sometimes he was too busy sighing and wondering how caring for two technically geriatric super soldiers had become his life. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever conjured the types of events that had become his daily life. But, in all honesty, he wouldn’t trade a millisecond of it for anything. 

He had never been the most tech savvy type, but he still liked his gear. He had a standard American’s worth of technological build up cluttering up his house that when confronted by Steve or Bucky, he was at a loss as to explain. 

“Why do you need Blu-rays _and_ DVDs?” Bucky asked, holding one in each hand. 

“Well, see...Everything transitions every few years. Records became tapes became CDs became MP3s…” He looked between them to make sure they were both following. They seemed to be, but Sam could never be sure. “Film reels became VHS and then DVDs which became Blu-rays.” 

“But movies come as files now,” Steve helpfully pointed out. 

“We stream them on Netflix,” Bucky added. 

“Well, yeah,” Sam replied. 

Bucky raised both arms, shaking the cases a little. 

“You know how stuff just clutters up on you?” 

“No,” they replied. 

“Well it does for people _now_ ,” he countered, proud of himself for not sighing - they sounded like his _Grandad_. “The **_point_** is, things sometimes change so fast you can’t keep up. Or in trying to you just sort of end up with an eclectic-”

“Mess,” Bucky pointed out. 

“Collection,” Sam finished a little forcefully. 

They absolutely _hated_ bananas. Sam had been trying to provide as balanced a diet as he could from the beginning. It took a while to work out the types of foods Steve and Bucky absolutely needed to keep their metabolisms in check. Steve’s burned faster than Bucky’s, but Bucky’s body spent half its energy directing his arm around. Steve could keep on three square meals as long as they were each family sized. Bucky needed to subsist on a more regular approach, with something to nibble on every few hours. He could do the three, but his body didn’t regulate the energy the way Steve’s did and he would soon be cranky. A cranky Bucky was not a Bucky anyone but Steve could reason with, and Sam preferred to keep everyone under his roof comfortable, and less likely to kill someone due to low sugar. 

He learned early in the foods they absolutely didn’t like. Steve had been harder to read than Bucky, because he still had his Great Depression survivor’s sensibilities. If it were edible and could satisfy his needs, he would eat it, whether he enjoyed it or not. But Bucky didn’t have any sort of linear memory or personality, and he would swing between quietly eating what he was given without any hint toward enjoyment or disgust and being extremely vocal about foods he felt personally offended by. It was a process Sam was still working on, but of all the foods they’d encountered, only one food had gotten the same reaction out of them. 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Steve spat, sticking his tongue out, pieces of banana clinging to it. 

Bucky coughed, then hacked, then spat the banana out into the kitchen garbage. Turning on the water in the sink, he promptly stuck his mouth under the running water. 

Sam watched Steve’s face scrunch up, as he drew his tongue back into his mouth, as if realizing his faux pas. He swallowed, gagged, and getting up, pushed Bucky gently but firmly out of the way and stuck his own head in the sink. 

Bucky sputtered a bit and wiped his face with his hand. “What the hell is _that_?!” he gasped accusingly, glaring at the fruit as if it had tried to kill him. 

“It’s a banana,” Sam replied. 

“That is _not_ a banana!” Bucky cried. “Stevie, how could you not know about this?!” 

Steve pushed himself up from the sink, pressing his mouth to the dish towel and turning the water off. He was silent for a moment, before responding, “I swear I didn’t know, Buck!” 

“You never had a ‘banana’ before?!” 

Steve shrugged. “Never much paid attention to what I was getting. It filled a need.” 

Bucky frowned darkly and Sam knew if he didn’t interrupt, they’d be having an impromptu session and none of them had the energy for the emotional drain it left behind. “What’s wrong with the banana?” he asked, taking a large bite on purpose. 

“What _isn’t_ wrong with it!” Bucky replied, before launching into a rant that soon dragged Steve right in. 

They liked to read the Newspaper. News came on the internet, accessible by tablets and computers and phones. It was on television. It was even on the radio - if you listened to the right station. But Steve and Bucky preferred to read the paper. 

Sam thought it had more to do with the act of it than the actual news absorption - they would both go to faster means if the situation called for it, he knew that. But they would sit at the table or in the living room, with cups of coffee and tangle up and just flip through pages, occasionally pausing to point out articles to each other, or to Sam. 

Sometimes Sam would just sit with his own coffee and watch them. The way the sun would stream in through the windows and fall across them. They weren’t quite as lost to it as they perhaps once were - the war, HYDRA and everything they’d endured since had left both deeply scarred - but they were comfortable. Sam could tell by how relaxed they were - a combination of body posture and personality he noticed they only indulged in around him. He liked to watch them read. Steve’s lips moved fairly often and he would make faces at the articles, shaking his head or the paper when something struck him. Bucky mostly lost himself to rhythm and familiarity. He retained everything, Sam knew. But there was no real guidelines to gauge him by. Unless he was actively calling attention to something, he was a pretty blank slate. And when he was, he became suddenly animated, infused with energy and liveliness. It was always a treat when Bucky was struck by something he read. Except for the times they accidentally triggered him and Steve and Sam would have to spend the next few hours talking him down. 

They read a lot. Sam had never been particularly bookish, though he’d managed to acquire a library like anyone his age. He didn’t notice at first when it began to grow. Didn’t start to pick up on the change even when the occasional odd book pile would crop up here and there. It wasn’t until Natasha came by and paused in the doorway with her hands on her hips that he realized they may have a slight problem. “You guys need to invest in bookshelves,” she’d said. And suddenly Sam could see it. It wasn’t clutter per se, but there were books on every surface of their home. When they’d finally gathered them all up and put them into some sterilite boxes he’d picked up for the sake of order - and had to go out and buy _more_ when they found themselves with a seemingly endless stack _regardless_ \- and tucked them all into the spare room, Bucky said, “Oh. I get it now.” 

Sam supposed he ought to feel proud that he didn’t need a point of reference to understand, when Steve flushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he drawled. 

“Guys, it’s fine,” he told them, hands up. “It’s more than fine. This is a good thing.” When he was met with identical stares, he summed it up for them. “Permanence. You’re investing in actually living your lives. All this…” He gestured to the cases of books. “Is proof you’re healing.” It might be slow, but it was definitely an investment. And Sam had first hand knowledge of how being able to just read could affect their moods. The stacks of books actually brought a warmth to his chest. He’d been worried about them for a while, but the books were a sign. 

“We should celebrate,” he declared, dusting off his hands. 

Steve, who didn’t like the fact that he had actual issues he needed to work through given credence, opened his mouth to object. But Bucky, who had finally accepted that he was in need of acceptance and assistance and worked toward his own health every day - and it was a struggle - just grinned. “Any excuse for cake, eh, Wilson?”

“Excuse you, Barnes. This is my Grandmother’s famous chocolate cake!”

Bucky leered teasingly. “Oh yeah? She a looker?” 

“Oh my god! No cake for you!” 

“Hey, you don’t know that I _didn’t_ know your Grandmother! What’s her name?”

“Louise,” he replied, reluctantly. 

“She’s from New York, isn’t she?” 

“Harlem,” he admitted. 

Bucky crowed. “Okay, now you gotta show me!!” 

“You did not-”

“Oh he did,” Steve replied.

Sam dropped a hand over his face. “If you knew my Grandma, I really don’t want to know about it.” 

“But, don’t you want-”

“Nope! Nope! Nope!” 

Steve’s laugh was only a shade behind Bucky’s. Sam was able to grin to himself over the sound of it as he half playfully, half seriously stomped off into the kitchen. 

He knew he’d hit the jackpot when they both gasped at the sight of the record player. But it wasn’t the equipment itself that had them sinking to their knees and almost reverently filtering through the old crates. Bucky held up a record, high over his head, arms extended. “Oh...oh this is my favorite!” He pushed himself up so quickly, Sam’s heart did a sudden fluttering sidestep in surprise. 

Thankfully he was able to keep it to himself. Which came in handy when the next moment, the music - crackling and popping and echoing - came through the speakers. Bucky closed his eyes and just stood there a moment, body still. He took a deep breath and held it, and Sam saw the discreet squeeze of his lids before his eyes opened distinctly wet. “Come on, Stevie!” he said, clamoring over the crates and grabbing Steve by the hand. He just kept moving, trusting Steve’s instinct to be naturally in step with him to drag him along. He wasn’t wrong - he never was about things when it came to Steve. “Dance with me!” 

Steve laughed as he was caught up in Bucky’s momentum. “You know I can’t dance for shit, Buck!”

“Time you learned! Sam, come on!” 

Sam blinked at them. 

“You know how to do this, right?”

Sam smiled.

“For the love a God! Come here!” he reached out and snagged Sam by the arm. The pressure of his metal limb gentle but insistent. Sometimes it struck Sam that that same arm had once nearly killed him, and it always left him in a state of awe. Bucky the person was a much better wielder of the arm than the Asset with all his training had ever had a hope to be. 

“The two of you, I swear!” he complained, already moving to the music. “What am I gonna do with you?” 

Steve was already tripping over himself, laughing and leaning into a fluidly moving Bucky, who had him by one hand and Sam by the other. Sam tried to imitate Bucky, but the other man had such a natural grace it was almost an insult to try. He was a damn good dancer and he’d figure it out though. 

Or he would when Bucky wasn’t so busy making him laugh by trying to turn him.


End file.
